


Magical Relations - Sixth Year

by evansentranced



Series: Magical Relations [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horcruxes, Magical Dudley Dursley, Sirius Black Lives, Slytherin!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evansentranced/pseuds/evansentranced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Dudley's sixth year. Highlights include Tom Riddle, horcruxes, badly misapplied love potions, and an unhealthy amount of paranoia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> [](http://imgur.com/LEVeJFv)  
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> (banner by j1mmyj6zz, but the account I have for them is deactivated. Let me know if you know how I can credit them!) 

On the day the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to arrive to take everyone home for the summer holidays, Harry woke up earlier than any of his dorm mates. He brushed his teeth in the heavy silence that permeated the dungeons, focusing on the routine movements of his toothbrush and determinedly not thinking about anything in particular. It was easy enough when no one else was awake, to look at him with concern or blatantly avoid certain topics.

Harry had woken up much earlier than his dorm mates most days since Tom Riddle got himself a body.

He was already packed, so he went down to the kitchens for breakfast. It was still too early for the Great Hall. 

By the time the sky had gone from black to a muted greyish blue, Harry was sitting on his trunk at Hogsmeade Station, waiting for the train.

As the sun peeked over the mountains, Luna joined him. “I thought you might be here already,” she said, nudging him until he shifted over and then sitting next to him on his trunk.

Harry looked at her and lifted one corner of his mouth. “You were right.”

Luna didn’t seem to feel a need to respond, and they sat quietly until the sun was fully risen above the treetops and a voice interrupted the peaceful silence.

“Had a feeling you’d be out here.” Harry blinked and sat up, looking around. Dudley was approaching from the gates, frowning at him and Luna. “You know we’re not supposed to be past the gates until eight.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Dudley shrugged and dropped down to the cement next to Harry’s trunk, having left his own behind for the house elves.

“Just thought I’d mention it,” he replied lightly, leaning back on his palms and staring at the empty train tracks. “Seeing as she certainly will when she realizes where we’ve gone.”

Dudley had been doing this a lot recently. Harry would find a place to be alone, and inevitably Dudley would find him, sit with him, and talk about whatever inane thing came into his head.

“How did you know where I’d gone, anyway?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose at the top of Dudley’s head. Harry knew he hadn’t stolen the Map. He’d checked repeatedly. Dudley caught the expression and grinned at him.

“Slytherins think they’re sneaky, but you’re actually really predictable,” he explained, looking back out at the tracks, and past them at the forest. “When we were little you always used to go to high places and big, empty places when you wanted to hide.” He tipped his head to look back at Harry and did a poor imitation of the eyebrow lift. ”It’s obvious.” Harry stared at him, face screwed up in consternation, and Dudley shrugged.

“Not my fault I know you,” he added when Harry didn’t say anything. “And we need to be out here later, anyway, there was no way you’d go anywhere else.”

“You’re very clever, Dudley Dursley,” Luna said unexpectedly. Harry and Dudley looked at her, and she blinked at Dudley. “It’s good Harry is going home with you.”

“Oh yes. I just can’t wait to get back to Privet Drive,” Harry told them both, softening the sarcasm with a small smile when Dudley frowned at him. He really didn’t think it’d be too terrible, not this year. With Aunt Petunia gone, most of the tension had vanished from Number Four, and Harry felt able to move fairly freely around the house during the day. He’d have plenty of menial routine and chatter from Dudley to distract him from anything he didn’t want to think about, and he’d go to Sirius and Remus as soon as he was able.

“I’ve been talking with Dad, and I think he’ll let us connect to the Floo this year,” Dudley said, with sudden excitement at the thought.

“You convinced Uncle Vernon to attach his gas-powered, fake fireplace to the Floo network?” Harry repeated, turning on his trunk to stare down at Dudley. “Are you sure he knows what you want to do? Properly?”

“I explained it,” Dudley said, waving a dismissive hand that told Harry that he most certainly _hadn’t_. “And anyway, we won’t be connected to the whole Floo network, just privately to a couple places. I wanted Hermione to get it too, but she said they only have a radiator and that if Father Christmas can’t fit through it, we can’t either.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke, grinning.

“What places?” Harry asked, smiling despite himself.

“Nev agreed to connect with us, and I figured your godfather, and maybe the-- erm,” he floundered, staring at Harry as he tried to talk about Grimmauld Place. “The other place you visited last year, and the Burrow,” he continued with relief.

“D’you really think Uncle Vernon won’t mind you coming and going through the fireplace all the time?”  Harry asked, uncertain. The idea of another Gryffindor Summer, as Pansy would almost certainly call it, was a little overwhelming at the moment.

“He’ll get used to it,” Dudley said, more optimistic than Harry thought was really warranted. “Anyway, he said he wanted to meet some of our friends.”

Harry blinked. “Right.”

* * *

The train compartment had been crowded compared to Uncle Vernon’s large, flashy company car. Harry’s three Gryffindor friends, three Slytherin friends, and Luna had all crowded into one compartment and refused to budge, despite the fact that Neville and Dudley had ended up sitting on a trunk pushed up against the window. 

Harry had been grateful, especially since Pansy chose the seat next to Luna and struck up a quiet conversation with her, apparently in an attempt to reconcile. Luna’s surprise had quickly died away, and they fell into a deep, serious looking discussion that had Pansy looking at times alarmed and confused, but always steadfastly responding.

Now, though, they were in Uncle Vernon’s car, and Dudley had taken to chattering away about every little detail of his term as usual, though any mention of Anthony was made conspicuous by its absence. Harry was grateful. He didn’t want to hear what Uncle Vernon had to say on the subject. He remembered last year. Dudley must, too.

“That professor of yours contacted me yesterday,” Vernon said, during a lull in Dudley’s recitation of the many exploits of his dorm mates, Thomas and Finnegan.

“Professor Lupin?” Dudley asked, and Harry’s head came up.

“That’d be the one,” Vernon agreed. “He told me he’ll be ‘round in two days to set up your...”

“Floo connection,” Dudley supplied helpfully.

“Right,” Vernon said, tapping his meaty fingers on the steering wheel as they sat at a stop. “Dudders, did you tell him what I told you about the flue not being--?”

“He knows, Dad,” Dudley said, “He said he can fix it. Magic, you know.”

Uncle Vernon made a thoughtful, rumbling noise and refocused on the road.

* * *

 

“Don’t worry, Mr Dursley. We’ll have your fireplace working in no time.”

Uncle Vernon’s moustache twitched. Harry wasn’t surprised at his skepticism. Currently, the living room was a jumble of bricks, chipped mortar, and an electric fire that had taken to Remus’ magic like a cat to water, if cats exploded when exposed to water. At least none of the pictures or knick knacks on the mantle had been destroyed; Remus’ summoning spell had deposited them safely (if precariously) in Harry and Dudley’s arms before they could come to harm. 

Remus glanced at Uncle Vernon, straightened his shoulders, and set about making the fireplace, at least, a bit more presentable. After a few false starts, the far wall held the beginnings of a much larger, elegantly appointed hearth, complete with a wide mantle. Dudley stepped forward with his pile of frames, but Harry coughed.

“Perhaps we should wait until he’s done,” he said with a pointed glance at the detritus strewn through the rest of the room.

Another small explosion, this one safely contained within the fireplace, had Uncle Vernon grumbling under his breath. It wasn’t until Harry realized the couch was on fire that things took a serious turn.

“I think-- Dudley!” Harry said, his sharp tone making his cousin startle and drop most of his burden. The fire crackling dangerously close to his trouser leg took care of the rest, and by the time Remus managed to tug him away and vanish the flames, Uncle Vernon was at the end of his rope.

“Dudley,” he said, and Harry could tell both by his tone and the way he tugged at his moustache that this was not going to go well.

“It was just a bit of fire, dad!” Dudley objected, turning to his father with all the outrage his lifetime of indulgences could bring to bear. “It’s nothing a few charms won’t put to rights in a couple minutes!”

“Just a bit of-- if nothing else, my living room is a disaster area, and I’m covered in dust!” Uncle Vernon returned, gesturing at himself. Remus and Harry made brief eye contact, and if Uncle Vernon hadn’t been even more outraged than Dudley, Harry might have laughed at the chagrin in Remus’ face as he surreptitiously aimed his wand over his shoulder and vanished the mortar dust. Harry didn’t blame him-- the electric fire explosion had clearly rattled Remus, who wasn’t used to casting in a muggle environment to begin with.

“No you aren’t,” Dudley whined, and Uncle Vernon looked down at his clothing, becoming visibly flustered when it turned out Dudley was right. Dudley kept right on talking over anything his father might have said in response to _that._ “See, Professor Lupin’s going to fix everything! We _need_ a Floo this year!”

Uncle Vernon found his equilibrium and his bluster all at once. “Be that as it may, Dudders, I don’t need my living room going up in flames in the dead of night because you’ve filled it with-- with fire magic!”

“Daaaaad,” Dudley said, turning to Harry to try and share an absolutely exasperated expression. He turned back to his father when Harry refused to involve himself by pretending to be fascinated by Remus’ spellwork. “That isn’t even how it works. It’ll be a totally normal fireplace unless we’re using it. It’s not just going to set things on fire for laughs.”

“It’ll be a totally normal fireplace if you don’t use it at all,” Uncle Vernon told him, turning on his heel and heading out the room as though to close the subject. 

The finality in his tone must have worried Dudley, who hurried after him, exclaiming. “Dad! We _need_ a Floo, you don’t understand!”

Their voices drifted to the kitchen, and Remus stepped away from the fireplace, which he’d nearly finished reconstructing.

“I’ll just... tidy up while they make up their minds,” he said, and Harry shrugged, feeling the awkwardness just as keenly.

“Uncle Vernon would probably appreciate that,” he agreed, stacking the framed photos and figurines on the new mantle. Remus repaired the couch and vanished all the extra bricks, then cast a few general cleaning charms that had the room looking almost as nice as if Harry had just finished dusting and vacuuming.

Remus cast a considering eye around the room and eventually fell on Harry, who was leaning against the wall by the newly enlarged fixture, slowly realizing that they would definitely have to reorganize the furniture, and trying to decide where the china cabinet should go.

“Harry, about what happened,” he began, and Harry hunched his shoulders.

“I’d rather not talk about it here, if it’s all the same,” he offered. “I don’t want--”

“You _knew_ that boy?” Uncle Vernon bellowed from the kitchen. “Does someone get killed _every year_?”

Harry winced. “I don’t think Uncle Vernon will take it well,” he said. Remus looked toward the kitchen in alarm, and checked his pocket watch.

“Just a few more minutes until our Floo appointment,” he explained, looking relieved.  “It’s just a spell on this end, and your Uncle can decide if he wants to deactivate it later. After we’ve given them their privacy.”

Uncle Vernon came storming back into the room, blinked when he found it spotless, then got back to being furious. “I’ll need you to connect me with that Headmaster,” he told Remus, eyeing the Floo with squinty-eyed distrust. “Has he got a telephone line as well as one of these?”

Remus looked as though he wasn’t quite certain how to answer that. “If you’d like to write a letter to him, I can deliver it,” he offered instead. “Or I can contact him by Floo if you’d rather speak sooner than later.”

“I would prefer to speak with him immediately,” Uncle Vernon said, still bristling. Dudley had followed him in, watching his father. The family resemblance was all the more striking when they both had their eyes narrowed like that.

“Then we’ll connect the Floo at four, as planned, and I’ll call him for you,” Remus offered, glancing at Harry. “If there’s anything I can help with in the meantime--”

“I’m pulling Dudders out of school,” he declared, ignoring Dudley’s sudden shout of dismay. “He’s supposed to be learning, not courting death!”

“Dad, you can’t!” Dudley insisted, his eyes gone wide and desperate. Harry stared between them, mouth hanging open. Even Remus had to pause and gather himself before responding.

“Mr Dursley, I don’t think that’s necessary, if you’d just--”

“Fortunately for my son, it’s not up to you whether it’s necessary,” Uncle Vernon grumbled, ignoring Dudley’s complaints. Harry could have reminded him that that sort of thing never worked, but figured Dudley had it in hand.

“Dad, I’m going back!” Dudley said, looking nearly on the verge of tears. “You can’t pull me out of school, what am I supposed to do? I can’t go to a muggle school!”

“There’ll be other schools of magic around,” Uncle Vernon said with more confidence than Harry thought he had any business expressing. “We’ll send you to one of those, Dudders. We’ll find one where the death toll isn’t so high.”

Harry flinched. Remus lifted his hands calmingly, for what little good it did for anyone in the room. “Mr Dursley, I would like to emphasize that the student that passed was the victim of... tragic and _unusual_ circumstances. I can guarantee that this is not a common occurrence at Hogwarts.”

“Toeing the party line, I see,” Uncle Vernon said dismissively. He checked his watch and cleared his throat. “Going on four o’clock just now. I’ll be needing the Headmaster.”

“Dad, you _can’t!_ ” Dudley said again, his face finally starting to turn that particular shade of red that always suggested a tantrum when they were younger. “I _won’t_ go anywhere else, I’m going back to Hogwarts!”

Uncle Vernon, to his credit, didn’t even try to engage with Dudley, perhaps aware that it would be a losing battle. He straightened his shoulders instead, and looked pointedly at Remus, who glanced between the group of them with an unreadable expression before casting the spell to activate the Floo.

“Harry,” Remus said as they waited for the sparks that would indicate the connection was complete. Harry had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and looked up from the fireplace to see an unbearably sympathetic expression on Remus’ face. “Did you want to do the test run before we try to call the Headmaster?”

“Test run?” Harry repeated. Uncle Vernon muttered something, and Harry very determinedly did not look in his direction.

“Yes, for the Floo Office so that they know it’s functioning properly,” Remus said. “It can’t be a long connection or I’d just call the Headmaster straight away. A trip somewhere should be enough.”

Harry nodded, relieved and grateful to Remus. He’d frankly rather be anywhere else right now. “I’ll just go to--” he hesitated, unable to directly reference Sirius and Remus’ house in front of Uncle Vernon, who hadn’t been let into the Fidelus Charm. “I’ll see you soon,” he said instead, and took a pinch of the Floo powder Remus offered, glancing at Dudley as he did. He had subsided into glaring, fists and jaw clenched as he stared, not at Harry, but at his father.

Harry threw down the powder and made good his escape.

* * *

 “Harry, finally!”

Harry stumbled through the fireplace at Sirius’ house, catching himself at the last second and looking up to find that Draco had been waiting for him in a bright red chair by the fire. Harry could see Sirius standing behind the island in the kitchen area. He looked up at Draco’s exclamation and grinned, setting down the teapot and striding over.

“Good to have you-- back,” Sirius said, his expression dropping into one of concern. “Are you alright? Where are your things?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, swallowing and straightening his shoulders. “I don’t like flooing. I was only doing a test run. I’ll have to go back for my trunk.”

Sirius hesitated, so it was Draco who spoke next. “No Harry, you look even worse than you did when I last saw you. What’s happened?”

Harry lifted the corners of his mouth in a faint, but doomed smile. “Uncle Vernon wants to pull Dudley out of Hogwarts and send him to a different magical school. Somewhere safer.”

“Where else is he going to send him?” Sirius asked, outraged. Draco’s expression was remarkably similar, and Harry was reminded that they were cousins. The yawning pit that had opened in his stomach at Uncle Vernon’s declaration grew.

“I don’t know, he didn’t seem worried by it,” Harry said, shrugging. “He wanted Remus to floo Dumbledore.”

“He’s not going to find anywhere better,” Sirius said, but Draco had different concerns.

“Is he going to try to pull you out of school as well?” he demanded. “He’s technically still your legal guardian, isn’t he?”

“He won’t be for long if he tries something like that,” Sirius said, looking to Harry for his answer. Harry shook his head.

“I didn’t get brought up,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral. “Uncle Vernon’s mostly concerned with Dudley.”

“Well, good!” Draco said, faltering almost immediately at whatever he saw in Harry’s face. He looked between Harry and Sirius. “Or... er, I’m going to go get the tea.”

He fled to the kitchen, which didn’t mean much with the lack of walls in the house. He managed to busy himself putting a tea tray together, while Sirius watched Harry closely and Harry avoided his gaze by watching Draco.

“Draco’s right,” Sirius pointed out, stepping closer and dropping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “If anyone’s going to force Remus to talk them out of sending you to a different school, it’s going to be me.” Harry let out a short huff of breath that could have been construed as a laugh, and Sirius continued, encouraged. “And he’d have to do a bloody good job of it, too. Graphs and charts and statistics and things. Research, Harry.”

Harry nodded and found it was easier to smile this time. The hole in his stomach felt a little less unmanageable. “Dioramas?” he offered, and Sirius grinned and squeezed his shoulder briefly.

“That’s the spirit,” Sirius agreed, leading Harry across the carpeting and onto a more reserved hardwood floor. “Now, I opened the floo in the Red Room because Draco seemed like he really didn’t like it over there, and I’m never one to turn down an opportunity for laughs. But if I’m to be a polite host, we should probably have tea in the library.”

* * *

Remus still hadn’t returned by the time they finished tea, and Harry drifted back over to the Floo reluctantly, Draco trailing behind him with his nose wrinkled. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, once Sirius was out of earshot. “It’s been a rather awkward couple days. I don’t think they like me very much.” 

Harry turned away from the Floo and frowned at Draco. “I don’t think that’s true. Sirius seemed pleased when we talked about you staying here. And you already knew Remus.”

“My room is _tiny,_ ” Draco said, looking over his shoulder and leaning in slightly. “It wasn’t on the first day, but I think they shrank it.”

Harry let a small smile creep over his face, and Draco elbowed him. “It’s not funny, Harry! And I don’t understand where the walls have gone. Is it a spell? Do they really need to keep an eye on me all the time like this?”

“Oh that’s not because of you,” Harry said, shaking his head. “They built it like this. Sirius likes to have a wide view of things. And we can fix your room; the walls will move back. It’s easy, I’ll show you later.”

“You’re going back to your cousin’s house then?” Draco asked, picking up the jar of floo powder. “Can I come?”

Harry’s initial instinct was to say, “No, definitely not,” and take the floo powder away, which was exactly what he did.

Draco scowled. “Harry. We’re connected to Grimmauld Place with my screaming aunt, Neville’s house with his grandmother who doesn’t like me, the Weasleys--” He didn’t seem to feel it was necessary to explain that one-- “And your muggle house. I’ve never seen a muggle house.”

“And that’s not going to change today,” Harry said, holding the jar out of range when Draco reached for it.

Draco switched tactics. “Don’t you need help to carry your trunk? You can barely carry yourself through a fireplace, you nearly fell on your face when you got here.”

“I’ll manage,” Harry said firmly. The very last thing he wanted was to introduce Draco to the inner workings of Privet Drive when he didn’t even really know what sort of shouting he was about to walk into.

From the flicker of a frown on Draco’s face, it seemed like that might be exactly what he was thinking. Harry sighed.

“Uncle Vernon’s not going to suddenly remember that he wants to withdraw me from Hogwarts, too,” he said, a touch of bitterness edging his words.

“That’s not it at all,” Draco said, dropping his attempts to get to the jar of powder. “I just thought you might want some help carrying things.”

“How about this,” Harry said, with the inevitable feeling that he was caving to Draco’s persuasion tactics. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, you can come help.”

“Fine,” Draco agreed, pulling out his watch and taking ostentatious note. “See you in ten minutes.”

Harry looked between him and the fireplace as he gathered pinch of powder, frowning. “Right. Number Four!”

Privet Drive had gotten loud in Harry’s absence. He stepped through the flames and looked around for the source.

The room was empty but for Dudley, who was nearly in tears as he spoke emphatically into the telephone. “Mum, just tell him to let me go back!” A pause. “No, he says it’s too danger-- well it’s not!” Harry crept past Dudley, who barely acknowledged his return, engrossed in whatever Aunt Petunia was saying on the other end. “Yes, I know. I’m not going to!”

Once in the hallway, the background noises he’d been able to hear in the living room resolved themselves into the raised voices of Uncle Vernon and Remus from beyond the kitchen door. Both were obviously trying and failing to be entirely civil. From the sound of it, Professor Dumbledore hadn’t been reachable. Harry ignored them and jogged up the stairs, hoping to get back to the calm of Sirius’s house before Draco decided to add himself to the mix.

He hadn’t really unpacked, planning to leave as soon as the floo was connected. It was more complicated than that, though. He knew he’d still have to spend a decent amount of time here for the blood wards to work properly, so he couldn’t take everything. If Uncle Vernon decided to cut the Floo connection, he’d probably have to bring it all back anyway.

He left a few changes of clothes and, after a moment’s thought, some spare parchment and quills. Then he stuffed everything else back into his trunk and dragged it out onto the landing, pausing to listen.

“Dad! Mum wants to talk to you!”

“In a moment, Dudley--”

“No, she says it’s important! You _have_ to talk to her!”

Harry started dragging his trunk down the stairs. Uncle Vernon spoke a few more words to Remus in the kitchen, then cleared his throat and said, “What is it, Pet?”

After a moment, Remus eased through the kitchen door and into the hallway, spotting Harry halfway down the stairs.

“Need a bit of help with that?” he asked, nodding to Harry’s trunk. Harry nodded, still listening for Uncle Vernon’s voice from behind the door as Remus shrank his trunk so he could drop it in his pocket.

“You can’t be serious, Petunia. _You’re_ the one who didn’t want him going to begin with!”

Dudley appeared from the living room, eyes still slightly red even as he searched out Harry and a smug grin stretched across his face.

“You’ve still got it,” Harry said, extremely impressed.

They both glanced at the kitchen door as Uncle Vernon grumbled and declared, “That’s the whole bloody _reason_ ! ...I don’t want him in harm’s way! Have you been _following_ their news? ...Yes, I _understand_ that, Petunia, but--”

“Mum’s really been coming around to it all,” Dudley said, his face glowing. “And she knows Hogwarts is the safest place for us with everything that’s going on.”

“That’s fantastic,” Harry said genuinely, coming the rest of the way down the stairs and joining Remus and Dudley in watching the kitchen door. Uncle Vernon’s stance was beginning to falter: Harry could hear it in his voice. A quick glance at Dudley told him he wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

“I’m going to head back, Harry,” Remus said, turning into the living room. Harry hurried to follow him, remembering Draco’s threat and not wanting to suddenly find him in the living room.

“Dudley, come over later and tell us how it goes,” Harry said.

Dudley nodded distractedly, grinning a little as Uncle Vernon continued, “Yes, I agree, but... yes. I know. I know...”

“See you soon,” he said as Harry and Remus vanished into the fire.


	2. The Floo

"Ron and Ginny," Harry said, stretched across the couch the library, his feet up on one arm.

"Ugh," Draco said in response, curled up in an armchair nearer to the fire.

"We could literally walk to the Burrow right now," Harry pointed out, yawning.

"Or we could Floo there," Dudley interjected from the floor. "And then we'd have two Seekers, and Ron can play Keeper."

"I can play Seeker," Draco grumbled.

"But if we go get Ron and Ginny, then Fred and George might be there too, and we'd have more Beaters," Harry pointed out.

"Beaters are hardly necessary to a pickup game," Draco said, then ducked the book Dudley threw at his head. "Oi!"

"If you didn't have me chucking things at you, you'd be half asleep," Dudley told him, smug.

"Wanker," Draco said, settling back down in his seat and keeping a more alert eye on the patch of floor where Dudley had sprawled out.

Harry ignored them and continued. "And then Neville can play-"

He was interrupted by twin snorts from the pair of them.

"Neville Longbottom _cannot_ play Quidditch," Draco said. Dudley spoke up a second later.

"Neville's not a fan," he agreed, shaking his head. "He won't play."

"He could just be an extra Chaser," Harry said hopefully, propping himself up on one elbow to look at them both. "Listen, Ginny and I'll be Seekers, Ron and Fred can be Keepers, George and Dudley will be Beaters, Draco will be the Chaser for one team and Luna and Neville can be on the other one, to even it out a bit."

Draco shook his head, incredulous. "No, that's useless, neither of them has a bloody clue what they're doing. It'll be boring. And sad."

"I'm not on their team," Dudley agreed. Harry scowled.

"Fine, you work out who plays what," he said, dropping his head back to the cushions.

"I'm hungry," Draco said instead. "What's for lunch?"

"Sirius and Remus are at Grimmauld Place," Harry reminded him. "They said to eat whatever we like."

"Hmmm," Draco said. "I like those sandwiches we had last week. With the chicken, remember?"

Harry yawned again. "Sounds good. Go make some."

After a long silence, Draco finally responded. "Me?"

"Yeah you," Harry said, turning his head to stare. "Who'd you think I was talking to?"

"I'm not making lunch," Draco said, a hair's breadth from outraged. "What d'you think I am, a house elf?"

"There aren't any house elves here," Dudley pitched in, stretching out a leg and managing to kick at Draco's chair. "Except the blonde one in the chair over there. Make me a sandwich too, would you, Drakey?"

Draco's appalled expression was enough to have Harry snickering along with Dudley. "Yeah, Drakey, I'll want some tea as well," he added.

"Oh, and some of those little meatball things like the elves at Hogwarts make," Dudley added. "And pumpkin juice."

"You can both starve," Draco told them, glaring. "I don't believe there isn't a house elf. This is like when Sirius told me I couldn't do magic here and then I caught you using _lavare_ on the dishes when it was your turn, isn't it?"

Harry remained silent as he fought to keep his face impassive. Fortunately, Dudley piped up to carry on the argument instead.

"If there were house elves, why would Harry have to clean the dishes at all?" he pointed out. Draco scowled.

"Because Sirius thinks it's funny," he said, unconvinced. He raised his voice. "Hello? House elf? Is there an elf beholden to this property? I require your assistance!"

"Yes, his name is Drakey, and he's taking forever with our lunch!" Dudley called back, across the coffee table.

Harry covered his face with his arm and laughed when Draco looked around, found nothing, and actually took his shoe off and threw it at Dudley, who shouted.

"Chasers have better aim," he said darkly. His voice went imperious again as he continued. "I command Sirius Black's house elf to come here at once! I am a guest in his home and I require your services!"

A sudden pop had Harry and Dudley sitting up, startled. A house elf had appeared, quite unexpectedly.

"Aha!" Draco declared. Harry blinked at the hunched, wizened old elf bowing to Draco in the middle of the library, muttering to itself.

"Oh, I guess he does have an elf," Harry said, surprised. "I suppose he might have mentioned it before."

"Oh, I guess he _might_ have mentioned it," Draco mocked, rolling his eyes. "I don't believe a word you say anymore, Harry."

"I really didn't remember," Harry insisted. Dudley had pushed himself into a sitting position with his back to Harry's couch, and they all stared at the house elf, whom Draco had just turned to address.

"We'd like lunch," he told it. The house elf stared at him out of tiny, narrowed little eyes.

"Kreacher isn't making lunch for the Masters since Mistress passed," he said, suspicious.

"Well," Draco said, taken aback. "Now you're going to. Chicken sandwiches." After a brief pause, he added, "Do I need to repeat myself?"

Harry frowned at Draco's rudeness, but the elf actually bowed in response. "Master's guest is a proper pureblood of the Black and Malfoy lines, Kreacher can tell," he muttered as he started to trudge toward the kitchen. The three of them watched him go. The lack of walls between them meant they could hear him muttering the whole way. "Kreacher will investigate to be certain Master isn't holding proper pureblood wizards in his filthy traitor home against their will."

"I think I understand why Sirius doesn't really talk about him," Harry said, once Kreacher was out of earshot.

"Right," Draco agreed, then seemed to shrug it off. "That's lunch sorted, anyway." He leaned back in his armchair again and turned the conversation back to their previous topic. "I think we're better off if none of us plays our usual position. It'll help with the handicap if we're honestly going to be playing with novices..."

* * *

"Everything Sirius does isn't actually a prank on you, you know," Harry said a few days later, as he trailed Draco through the house, watching him wave his wand at random objects.

"Of course it is," Draco said, glancing at Harry with a condescending expression. "And the longer you pretend it isn't, the more convinced I am that you're in on it."

Harry sighed. "I'm not in on anything. I thought we were going to work on our summer assignments at Number Four today. Not..." He gestured vaguely as Draco spelled a picture frame. "Whatever it is you're doing."

Now that Uncle Vernon had been talked down from pulling Dudley out of school, both Draco and Dudley were pushing Harry to spend some daylight hours at Privet Drive. They argued that Draco still hadn't seen it, and Dudley had promised Uncle Vernon he would meet their friends.

Harry wasn't keen on the idea, and he was already sleeping there to satisfy the blood wards anyway. He naturally woke earlier than Draco and Dudley both, which meant he could usually Floo over to Sirius's house before either of them could force the issue.

But now that he'd agreed, he just wanted to get it over with. Draco's prank, or whatever this was, was taking the sort of time that meant Harry was slowly talking himself out of going to Privet Drive at all today.

"He's had me doing 'chores' this whole time," Draco said, scowling. "The muggle way, at first! Like I'm an animal!"

"Or a muggle," Harry interjected, a note of warning in his tone.

"Or, yes, right," Draco said hastily. "My point though, is that he did it on purpose. Isn't it nice, not having to do chores now that we have Kreacher?"

"I kept my room clean and washed the dishes after dinner once every few days with a spell," Harry said skeptically. "I don't really count that as chores."

"I had to touch dishwater," Draco said, hexing a seat cushion in the Red Room with particular fervour.

"He's a monster," Harry said, deadpan. He grabbed Draco's arm as they neared fireplace, and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. "Come on, already."

Draco summoned their school bags, barely getting a hand around the straps before Harry shouted, "Number Four!" and dragged him into the fire.

On arrival in the Dursley living room, Harry paused and glanced around, relieved that no one was there for Draco's initial introduction to a muggle home. He turned to look at him, and sure enough, Draco's expression was pinched.

"Say it," Harry ordered. Draco winced.

"It's... lovely," he said, staring at the television like he'd never seen one before. Which he hadn't, Harry reminded himself, and pushed onward.

"Say it now," Harry repeated. "Because you're not saying it front of Dudley or my uncle."

"It's so... small," Draco said, clearly choosing his words carefully. Harry waited. "And... awful. Is it a receiving room?"

"It's the living room," Harry said, raising his eyebrows at Draco's expression. "Really?"

Draco shrugged. "The walls are all flat, and everything's so... bland," he pointed out, peering around and finding the light switch. "What on earth does this do?"

"It's to turn the lights on and off," Harry said, watching from near the fireplace as Draco prodded experimentally at the switch, and then moved on to the dial next to it. "I wouldn't touch that one if I were you."

Draco snatched his hand back as if scalded. "What does it do?"

"It's the thermostat," Harry explained.

"Thermo... statim..." Draco's forehead furrowed. "Fast heat? Is it some kind of fire starting device?"

Harry grinned at him and pulled him into the hallway. "Sort of. Come on, I can hear them in the kitchen."

"Are all muggle houses like this?" Draco asked as he allowed himself to be led, staring around with wide eyes.

"Yes and no," Harry said, shrugging. They reached the kitchen and Draco frowned.

"Boxes," he said faintly, but fell silent when Harry looked at him.

"You actually showed," Dudley said from the kitchen table.

"Yeah, I had to drag him away from cursing everything in the house," Harry said, jerking a thumb at Draco as he dropped into a seat.

He kicked out another chair for Draco, who sat carefully and looked at Neville, sitting across from him with a similar lack of comprehension in his eyes as he looked around. They shared a baffled glance that seemed to cement some kind of camaraderie, because a moment later, Draco mouthed 'boxes' again. Neville nodded furiously.

"Right," Harry said, dragging their bags onto the table and pushing Draco's toward him. "Transfiguration first, I think."

"Yeah, I'm confused," Dudley agreed, opening the fridge. Draco and Neville craned their necks to see inside as Dudley gathered four fizzy drinks, one for each of them. "I don't even know what she wants us to write about, really."

He sat down and slid one across the table to Harry, who nodded his thanks, still ostensibly flipping through his textbook for the proper chapter while watching the two purebloods in their midst. Draco picked up his own can, turned it upside down, and looked back to Neville, who shook the can experimentally.

"No, don't-" Dudley took the can away from Neville, frowning. "Don't do that."

"Like animals," Harry said in an undertone to Draco, who went faintly red, put his can down, and folded his hands in his lap. When Neville looked at him, Harry pointed to the textbook and said in a normal tone, "Animate to inanimate transformations. That's what we're writing about."

"What was the... er, page number?" Neville asked, watching with something akin to alarm as Dudley replaced his drink with a new one. Harry leaned his chin in his hand to hide his grin as Draco mouthed 'What did you do?' and Neville shrugged, shaking his head helplessly.

"It was page four hundred and twelve," Harry said helpfully. Dudley looked around at them all, then at Harry, who had yet to open his own drink.

"Oh, honestly," he said, rolling his eyes. "Like this." He pulled the tab on the drink and Harry watched with unabashed enjoyment as Draco and Neville jumped at the sharp fizz of the carbonate.

"You have to be careful that they don't explode," Harry added, finally cracking open his own drink and innocently ignoring the appalled expressions on Neville and Draco's faces.

* * *

They'd decided to take a break from inanimate transformations and moved on to Charms by the time Uncle Vernon arrived home from the office. Harry realized first, his head coming up from his work when he heard the car door slam shut. The sound of the house key turning in the lock brought Dudley's eyes up to meet Harry's. In unison, they leapt to their feet and made for the kitchen door before Neville or Draco had a chance to ask.

"Hello," Uncle Vernon said with a baffled frown when they met him in the hall.

"We have some visitors," Dudley announced, while Harry hovered in front of the entrance to the kitchen. "Two of our friends from school. You said you wanted to meet some, didn't you, dad?"

"Ah!" Vernon declared, shrugging out of his suit jacket and hanging it up on the coat rack. He set his briefcase down on the hall table and peered past Harry, at the kitchen door. Harry shifted to block his view without thinking about it, and heard the telltale creak of someone leaning against the other side of the door to listen in. "In there, are they?" he asked Dudley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah," Dudley said, though he didn't move from his position by the stairs. "But dad, be normal, alright?"

Harry goggled. Surely that wasn't the correct advice for this situation?

Dudley caught his expression, and perhaps the bemused way Uncle Vernon tugged at his moustache, and hastened to add, "Just don't be weird."

Vernon grumbled to himself and hastened toward the kitchen door. Harry prodded at it to give Draco and Neville a chance to act like they hadn't been eavesdropping, then pushed through in front of him.

Neville and Draco were both hovering near the sink, and Draco gave Harry a bright smile when he raised an eyebrow at them. Uncle Vernon and Dudley followed him in before he could say anything, and Dudley took over introductions.

"Dad, this is Neville, he's in Gryffindor with me." Dudley gestured to Neville, who gave Uncle Vernon a quick smile, then hurried forward quickly when he realized Uncle Vernon's intent to shake hands.

"Good to meet you, son," Uncle Vernon said, and Neville nodded back.

"Pleasure, sir," he said, stepping quickly back next to Draco, who waited out the next several seconds before casting an impatient glance at Harry, clearly expecting his own introduction.

"Oh," Harry said suddenly, looking quickly away from Draco as his polite, expectant smile tightened. "Er, Uncle Vernon, this is Draco. He's in Slytherin with me."

"How do you do?" Draco asked, stepping forward smoothly to meet Uncle Vernon's handshake.

"I'm well, young man, and yourself?" Uncle Vernon responded, and Draco offered him a politely charming smile.

"Quite well," he returned. "You have a lovely home, sir. You have our gratitude for your hospitality."

Harry instantly decided that Draco must have eaten an etiquette book as a child, but he made it sound so natural that Uncle Vernon puffed up and took an immediate and visible shine to him.

"No trouble at all," he blustered, casting a proud eye around the kitchen. "Have the boys given you the tour?"

"They did, in fact," Draco said, his expression somehow conveying that he had been extremely impressed by all that he'd seen, when Harry knew for a fact that he'd laughed himself sick at the baby pictures of Dudley in the front hall. "We've been working on our summer assignments, just now."

"Ah ha," Uncle Vernon agreed, casting a disinterested eye over the scraps of parchment and books scattered across his table. "Dudley says he goes through the flue to practice Quidditch with his friends, are you one of those?"

Draco nodded once, and lifted a hand to gesture at Harry. "We're on our House team together," he explained, standing a little taller. "I'm Chaser for Slytherin." He paused, then added, "I score the points."

"Oh, indeed, yes!" Uncle Vernon was clearly more comfortable with this line of inquiry. "Dudley's just been made starter for Gryffindor, you know. Beater."

Draco laughed, a strange, upper-class sort of noise Harry hadn't really heard out of him before. "I've played against him before. He's quite good."

"I nearly took you down last time we played," Dudley interjected, grinning. "Knocked the Quaffle right out of his hands, dad."

Uncle Vernon's laugh, in contrast, boomed through the kitchen. "That's my boy." He glanced at Neville. "And what position do you play?"

Neville's eyes widened and darted to Harry, who'd backed up near the fridge and chosen to watch the conversation unfold quietly. At the unspoken plea, he scrambled to speak first.

"Oh, Neville's more interested in Herbology," Harry volunteered, and Uncle Vernon looked round at him in surprise. "You know, Devil's Snare, Venomous Tentacula. Dangerous stuff. Couldn't get around them on a broom, that's for sure."

Neville muttered something under his breath that sounded to Harry like 'Thank Merlin for that,' but Uncle Vernon was already speaking again.

"Takes all sorts, I suppose," he shrugged, then turned back to Dudley and Draco. "I hear there's quite the rivalry between your two teams. Not going to try to steal my boy's strategies, are you?"

"To my understanding, a Beater's strategy is largely to knock everyone else off their brooms," Draco responded with a small smirk. "I intend to stay on mine, and that's the extent of it, as it were."

"There's more to it than that," Dudley retorted, and Harry opened the fridge, finding two more fizzy drinks and sidling over to where Neville stood leaning against the counter. He even opened one before handing it off.

"Not going to talk Quidditch with them?" Neville asked, taking the drink and nodding his thanks.

"I'd just get in the way," Harry said with certainty. "Want an actual tour of the house?"

Neville considered the animated debate about National League beaters that was brewing in front of them, and nodded. "Sure."

* * *

The problem with staying overnight at Privet Drive came largely when he couldn't sleep. Or worse, like tonight, when Harry fell asleep and woke up in the grey-black of early morning, tangled in his sheets and lost in the buzz of muggle silence and his own panicked breathing.

He struggled to extricate himself from his bed clothes, his stomach roiling. He had barely the time and presence of mind to make it to his rubbish bin before vomiting. After he'd finished, he curled up with his back against his desk and squeezed his eyes shut, palms pressed firmly against his temples. His head was still spinning.

It had been- like during the school year, when he'd dreamed of Anthony. But much more. Everyone had been furious, everyone had been looking at each other and seeing themselves seeing each other- It'd been like... standing a row of mirrors in a circle and someone had thrown him into the center and replaced his glasses with kaleidoscopes.

His stomach curled in on itself; he wanted to throw up again. Harry clutched at his midsection and pressed his face against his knees, groaning. How to stop this... he knew he'd been told what to do, but his mind felt fragmented and drained, like... his Occlumency walls weren't working, or had been damaged-

Thoughts of Occlumency led to thoughts of Snape, who would certainly have something to say about Harry's current inability to control his own mind-

Snape would want to read his dream journal after something like this, wouldn't he? He'd want Harry to write down what had happened and tell him about the meditation he'd done after the dream to rebuild his walls...

Right. Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. Writing it down was the first step. Parchment and a quill on his desk. He tugged them down to the seat of his chair and readied the quill before realizing he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Right. He retrieved his glasses from the bedside table, flicking on the small lamp and feeling more calm already. Snape would want to know the basics: he always wanted to know who, where, and what.

Who? Everyone. All of them. But that didn't make any sense, did it? Harry paused, considering the memory. Voldemort, he decided with certainty. Voldemort had definitely been there, the eyes were fresh in his mind. He wrote that down.

And then... Anthony? No - Harry's stomach lurched again at the thought.

Tom Riddle. And Harry, but Harry didn't count in this sort of dream. He was always there. Death Eaters, though, they counted. There had been a lot of them.

Harry scribbled this down, then moved on to the next question. Where? Somewhere dark and familiar. Somewhere on a hill, with jutting shapes outlining the space around where he'd watched. Their silhouettes were too sharp for bushes or trees, and he thought they reminded him of-

Gravestones. Harry dropped his quill at the sudden realization, the dim shapes of his bedroom furniture looming up threateningly around him as he lost focus on the dream in favour of rising hysteria. They were in the graveyard, all of them, him and Voldemort and the Death Eaters, just like last time, but Riddle was there, and Anthony lay where Karkaoff had writhed, screaming, and-

His hand scrabbled at his side for his wand, and instead he caught the leg of the desk chair, his parchment falling into his lap. He forced himself to flatten his free hand on the floor and focus on the scratchy carpet under his fingertips, the scent of fresh ink and vomit and dirty socks which, yes, there they were, just there at the foot of his bed. The only sounds were the steady ring of muggle silence and his own harsh, sobbing breaths. He swallowed hard and lifted a shaky hand, pushing his glasses up and swiping at his eyes. He was in his bedroom, in Privet Drive. He was alone. Dudley was in the next room, and Uncle Vernon across the hall. If he went downstairs and stepped into the fireplace, Sirius and Remus would be there, and Draco, all of them.

Feeling more centered, Harry straightened up and laid his parchment out against his makeshift table again. He took several deep breaths as he wrote out a one word explanation for 'where', then paused to listen to the silence until he felt his heart rate had steadied.

Finally, he moved on to the 'what' of the matter. Anger, certainly. Everyone had been angry. And afraid? Or had that just been Harry? The dream was already shifting and slipping, especially with the confusion of old memories in- where they'd been.

With some consideration, Harry realized that yes, he'd been confused and frightened. But someone else had been shocked and genuinely fearful, like something enormous had gone monumentally arwy. Harry didn't feel it in the way he was used to feeling the memory of his own emotions. It felt more like the anger, like someone else's adrenaline dropped into his bloodstream to deal with.

Someone had been furious, but... he frowned and let his quill drip onto the seat of the chair as he tried to piece together what else had been happening. Excitement? That couldn't... but it felt right. Harry added this to his list. They had all been there: the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and Tom Riddle, and someone was excited about it.

He leaned his shoulder against the desk, drawer handles digging into his arm, and read through his notes. He couldn't think of anything else to report. Nothing firm, anyway, and now that he'd begun to calm down, his eyes were drooping. He dropped the quill onto the surface of the desk and set his glasses on top of his notes, so that he wouldn't forget to owl them off to Snape first thing in the morning. With that, he crawled back into bed and buried his head under his pillow. In the morning, he'd be surprised to realize he'd left the light on.


End file.
